Demons
by chojutsuka
Summary: Original case. Miles Edgeworth struggles to regain his honor after losing for the first time - however, fighting ones' demons are hardly ever that easy. AU, slash, strong mature content
1. Chapter 1

Summary: This is an AU crime fic based on Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney. Naturally this story is much darker than the game. Original case. Miles Edgeworth struggles to regain his honor after losing for the first time - however, fighting ones' demons are hardly ever that easy.

Warnings: Contains some spoilers for PW:AA and PW:JFA. AU, slash, possible non-con, violence, gore (murder), sexual content, imagined bondage, discipline... mature content throughout the rest of this fiction. Rape elements between von Karma/Edgeworth. Possible EdgeworthxWright or WrightxEdgeworth in later chapters. Disturbing content, squick sigh I think that's all of it.

MUCH love to mostlyharmlessIII for beta reading this. Words cannot express how much it means to me.

* * *

The Murder

_Ring…_

_Ring…_

_Ring…_

blip

"Hello?"

"…_Hello, Samantha."_

"Hello…who is this?"

"_I've been watching you a long time, Samantha…"_

"…Is this a joke? C'mon, Ralph, this isn't funny!"

"_That's not me. This isn't a joke."_

"Who…"

"_Enough talk. I'm going to tell you something, so listen up."_

"…"

"_Good…I __**hate**__ you. Hate everything about you. You're a deceiver, a fraud – to put it plainly – a liar. I figure somebody needs to do something about it; so it's going to be me."_

"Oh my god, what are you…?"

"_Shh, my princess. It'll all be over soon. Your pathetic life will come to a pathetic end it a few short moments."_

"Don't come anywhere near me! I'll call the cops!"

"_Then you better start dialing…"_

"Because I'm right behind you."

"Aaaaahhhh!"

blip


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Warnings: Violence, gore (murder), sexual content, imagined bondage, discipline, mature content. Rape elements between von Karma/Edgeworth.

I want to dedicate this fic to mostlyharmlessIII, because without her input this story would have lacked the luster it really needed to shine.

* * *

6:45am

The Crime Scene

Blood hung heavily in the air, the smell of sickly sweetness permeating the small apartment room. The sun barely filtered through dingy windows, casting a heavy shadow over the commotion.

It happened sometime in the early morning; the murder was so fresh that forensics still scurried about, dusting, taping, and bagging all the evidence they could get their hands on.

They reminded him of rats.

The man covered his nose with a cravat wrapped masterfully around his neck. The tinge of iron in the stuffy room made him queasy, even though he was accustomed to being one of the first few to arrive at a crime scene. Pondering the situation, he determined that the cramped space was more the undoing of his stomach, rather than the bloodied mass at his feet.

Surveying the two room apartment, his inner detective noted the unkempt piles of belongings everywhere – it would be wrong to call it trash, but the disarray bit irritatingly at the methodical and orderly man. The place was putrid and smelled stagnant; coupled with the taint of death, he had to stay focused on work to keep from retching on the spot. Seemingly the 'rats' had no problems with the environment.

"You okay, sir?" A voice carefully whispered, as if hoping to avoid prying the man in question.

"Fine, detective." _The fool_. This one needed to worry more about collecting evidence than asking irrelevant questions. "Stay focused." he simply stated, rather than roughly telling the trench coat -clad detective that he would garnish his wages in a moment's notice if he did not return to the issue at hand.

He didn't have the strength or will for that. The longer he stood in the dirty apartment, the more nauseated he became.

"Sir, we've discovered the murder weapon," a meek looking rookie croaked, politely holding up a sealed evidence bag, its insides stained with red.

Carefully applying his leather gloves, Miles Edgeworth took the dangling cellophane package from the policeman. A knife, approximately eight inches long from blade to tip, rolled around inside, poking out from the colored haze inside the bag. It didn't take much to identify this as the murder weapon: some of the skin still hung from the serrated blade.

"Detective Gumshoe." Every time Edgeworth said it, he was reminded of the irony: Was it his destiny to become part of the police force with that surname? Dismissing the thought Edgeworth handed over the bag and its contents.

"See to it that this is fingerprinted and cataloged," came the brief but strict reply. Immediately the detective turned and exited the scene.

Surveying the body, he could deduce several things instantly. A stab to the chest over the heart was probably the cause of death. It looked like the girl had put up quite a struggle, he thought, noting the scratches along her long, thin limbs.

Kneeling in to take a closer look at the wounds, the strong scent of decay wafted to his nose. Congealing blood and tattered flesh clung to the young girl. She couldn't have been any older than twenty.

Glancing next to the body, he noticed a cell phone that looked as though it had been dropped or broken – the battery cover was loose and the battery itself was missing.

"Detective." He knew Gumshoe was back already without looking up. "Make sure that this is also taken in for examination."

"Y-Yes, sir." The husky man strode over to the forensics cart and pulled out another bag. Dropping the pieces of cell phone into the plastic with gloved hands, he nodded and exited the room again.

The prosecutor pondered the scene until Gumshoe returned, then called the detective over.

Gumshoe, prepared for the line of questioning that always ensued from the prosecutor, took a deep breath and steadied himself to answer.

"Have you apprehended a suspect?" Steel grey eyes flicked up at the detective momentarily causing him to blank.

"Uh…No sir!" the detective snapped, hoping that his pause wasn't noticed.

It was, but luckily the prosecutor only narrowed his eyes slightly. At least his wages were safe.

"Who found her?" The next question was rapid fire, but the detective knew the answer to this one.

"Her boyfriend." He smirked, proud to give the cold calculated man a definite response. "Said that they were supposed to go out."

"Make sure that you bring him in."

The detective swallowed hard. "Do you think he…?"

"Everyone lies, detective. Remember that." The stiff reply sent shivers down the detective's back; he could almost swear that he could feel a chill emanating from the man.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Edgeworth, sir?"

"Yes, detective?" The prosecutor closed the notebook that he was taking notes in and turned to gaze at the trench-coated policeman.

"Do you know who did it?"

The prosecutor paused and gave the detective a thoughtful look. "A prosecutor doesn't tip his hand, detective. Though I believe that it is safe to say that yes, I do."

With that he turned and strode from the scene, sliding the notes into the leather bound briefcase at his side. Shoulders back and head high, the police team watched as the demon prosecutor left the scene of the crime.

Edgeworth went through the details of the murder like clockwork. The apartment was located on the tenth floor, number 107. The door automatically locked, so anyone entering the building needed a key card. Otherwise, they had to get buzzed in by the security guard, who was on post at all times.

He considered the victim: Samantha Green, well known agent in the prime of her youth. Her clientele were actors who had gained popularity with her representation. She was nearly a household name.

Who would have figured that her most notorious headlines would be from her own death?

Edgeworth descended the stairs quickly, circling around and down another flight.

He prided himself in believing that the stairs were a healthy alternative. It went without saying that the apartment had an elevator: he would never admit why he actually avoided it, and no one was the wiser.

Brushing past a few policemen at the door, he breathed a sigh of relief and fresh morning air as he weaved through parked police cars and an ambulance. Seeing the red sports car just past the last cruiser he picked up the pace for the comfort that he knew would be waiting.

Only casually noting the bus that stopped at the adjacent corner, his gaze turned as he watched the doors slide open to reveal a man dressed in a remarkably cheap gaudy blue suit. There was only one man that he knew who had the guts to wear such a vibrant hue as that. _Wright_.

Taking in the man in as they closed distance, it looked as though the defense attorney had just rolled out of bed and ventured to the crime scene; his shirt was rumpled, his slacks were creased in all the wrong places, and his hair was unmistakably flatter on one side than it was on the other. Even his black shoes lacked any luster that a spit shine would have given them. Edgeworth avoided looking at the man anymore than necessary, blocking him out of his peripheral as he made his way to his car. Intentionally he searched for his keys as a distraction, though he always knew where they were.

It seemed that the other man was sizing him up as well, oddly with a genuine smile plastered on his face. There was nothing about his appearance that he would be able to scrutinize, because he always kept things…perfect.

"Hey, Edgeworth!" The man slowed as the distance closed. It was only polite to respond.

"Good morning, Wright." Though the response was geared towards politeness, there was nothing in his tone that indicated as such.

Not pausing to stop for idle chitchat, Edgeworth continued to the car.

* * *

_Wow. _Wright thought to himself_. It's got to be six in the morning, yet Edgeworth clean, pressed, and prepared to work_. He looked down at his own clothing as he followed the prosecutors' short gaze at the defense attorney. _I must look like a wreck this morning._

Phoenix Wright had gotten the call early; by the looks of it, the sun hadn't even broken the nighttime sky yet. His phone was buzzing and beeping the tune out to 'The Steel Samurai' that Maya must have planted on it secretly.

He cursed inwardly at the trill of the phone, startling him from a sound slumber. It was Larry, of all people – he wanted to hang up and go back to sleep. Larry, however, was very persistent.

"You've got to come over!" the man's giddy voice announced. "There's been a murder – right next door!"

Wright's eyes shot open. "What?"

"Yeah, in the apartment next to mine. They said that some lady was offed in her own home!"

"Offed?"

"Ya know – killed." He sounded exasperated as he explained simple slang to his long time friend. "Just come over already!"

_Click_.

Normally when Larry said things in his usual way, Wright would think better of it. Many times they would be false alarms, and he'd wind up running around town chasing ghosts. The defense attorney had half a mind to reclaim his bed; he had just settled into his pillow when the phone rang again.

"Is this Phoenix Wright? The defense attorney?"

"Yes it is," he answered, an eyebrow arching up in interest.

"Well, I believe that I may need your assistance."

Silence.

"I think the police suspect me of killing my girlfriend."

So that's how the day began he thought as he looked again at his rumpled clothes. No time to iron, no time to look presentable. Yet here was prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, shining and…perfect, as if he had waited all night for the phone to ring.

"Hey, Edgeworth!" he offered a genuine greeting, smiling as if they were friends and not rivals.

"Good morning, Wright." The lawyer didn't even look up at him.

Undaunted by the monotone salutation, Wright continued onward to the scene. He imagined that Gumshoe would still be there, busily preparing evidence for the court case. Maybe he might be able to squeeze some information from the absent-minded detective.

* * *

Edgeworth sighed as he slipped into the seat. The cool leather interior was inviting and calming; he immediately shrugged off the intrusive image of the defense attorney.

There was work to be done.

He turned the key and the engine roared to life. Slapping the shifter to second gear, he sped off toward the prosecutor's office to prepare his case against the one person who had committed the crime.

When he arrived at his high rise office, nothing was out of place. A spacious room filled with books and previous case notes, the room held a distinguished air of nobility and refined grace. Edgeworth had worked hard to keep the room orderly and spotless; he was able to breathe easier here than anywhere else.

Setting to work immediately he produced the notes he had taken and lined them on the desk, arranging them in relation to one another.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

His eyes flashed. Who could this possibly be, especially when he requested that he not be disturbed?

"Mr. Edgeworth?" The secretary poked her head in cautiously. "Mr. von Karma called for you."

The simmer in his gaze quelled at the sound of his stepfather's name. His demeanor changed entirely. "Thank you." He responded, collecting the assembled data on the table and placing it back in the case.

Von Karma's office was simply down the hall from his. A few seconds later he was knocking at the large wooden door, waiting patiently for a response.

A deep voice answered, permitting his entrance. Quickly he stepped inside.

Von Karma was the epitome of perfection – his clothes, his appearance – nothing was out of place. Like a painting, the man sat at a desk that framed him, dark wood stained to compliment the purple velour he wore. A glass perched on the corner of the desk, brimming with blood red wine – untouched. Papers were stacked neatly on the other end, no page out of order. A small enamel lamp cast a soft, yet eerie light at the center of the intricate wooden bench barely reached the figure complacently sitting there. Nothing was out of place – he was exquisite; even Edgeworth marveled at his benefactor's picturesque quality.

"My son. Please, sit." The man gestured. Though the voice that spoke offered comfort, there was no warmth in the statement. The prosecutor sat on command.

"I hear that you are on a new case." The deep voice prickled the hair on the back of his neck. The tone was familiar and dread filled his consciousness.

As soon as he sat, Von Karma rose, walking slowly with hands drawn behind his back towards the lawyer. Slowly, yet with perfect intent, he slid the lock closed on the office door.

Edgeworth eyed the older prosecutor with an icy stare.

"So defiant, even after a loss." His voice dripped with sarcasm and more; Edgeworth attempted to ignore it.

"It was one time, sir." Edgeworth's voice dropped matching the even tone of his mentor and teacher. He learned to not back down, even to Von Karma. "It was just luck-"

A fist slammed down into the decorative wooden table. "_Luck_?! Don't talk about luck! _Luck_ caused you lose to a foolhardy incompetent lawyer, is _that_ what you're going to say?" Like a predator, von Karma stalked the sitting prosecutor. "_Luck_ was what caused your perfect record to be broken? Facts, my foolish son. Facts and evidence are the _only_ things that matter!" He spat boldly.

A large hand clutched Edgeworth's throat. His neck in von Karma's grasp felt so small and weak – though he were a full grown man and hardly diminutive in stature, von Karma hoisted him up as though he were a doll.

"You are a _fool_. You _taint_ the family name." He felt the grasp tighten, constricting his airway. Von Karma, though older, was not a force to be toyed with, mentally or physically.

Edgeworth could not respond, though he did not change the intense stare he gave his stepfather. He would never back down because that would destroy any bit of respect the man had for him.

Pale blue eyes stared deep into his soul, daring him to break his concentration. In one twist, he knew that von Karma had the strength to break his neck.

For one sick twisted moment he wondered why von Karma hesitated to kill him.

It was obvious inside the von Karma family that, though Edgeworth was the only son that Manfred could call his own, he would not be his heir. Though his adoption had been legalized by the magistrate, von Karma never gave him his surname.

It was both a blessing and a curse.

Keeping his own name meant living as Gregory Edgeworth's son – giving him a chance to carry on his family honor.

On the other hand, Manfred made him well aware that he would never be worthy of the name von Karma.

Everything was perfection to Manfred. Perfection defined nobility. Miles Edgeworth would never be perfect.

As much as he strived, in the eyes of his mentor he would never be good enough. From the moment that he was accepted into the family, it was not on an equal level; he was born into a world of inconsistency and foolishness, branding him for the rest of his life.

He could remember von Karma saying as much as the prosecutor bore down on him again.

"_Your father was a compassionate fool. He has poisoned you with his philosophical idealism. No matter how you deny it, you will always be your father's son."_

"We have yet to talk about that incident," Manfred sneered at him, his gaze full of contempt and malice. Releasing the hold on Edgeworth, he let the man stagger to his feet.

"A fluke, and that's all it was, _Manfred_." He rose straightening his posture before the intimidating form of von Karma. His hands shook, but he could not show weakness against the formidable man. "Wright got lucky. He will never do so again."

"Ah. I have always believed you to be a truthful man." Von Karma paced along his desk. Edgeworth eyed him warily. "It is your nature – probably from your deprived heritage," he snorted. "However, everyone deserves a second chance, Miles, and I'm willing to grant it." The false smile that spread across the aged face was deadly.

The tight lipped grimace on Edgeworth's face refused to change. He knew what von Karma was going to do before the man spoke.

"But chances are not given freely. They are earned, Miles. You must _earn_ your second chance." Slowly, deliberately, he lifted the long black strand from its resting place above the mantle. It gleamed in the sinister light from the small lamp at the desk. The man's gloved hands caressed the leather almost lovingly. He admired it in his palm before turning his gaze on Edgeworth.

Miles swallowed hard, looking at the tool of his training in the hands of his mentor.

A mixture of feelings wrapped tightly around his heart.

Miles was well aware how much power the aged attorney had over the law; von Karma practically ran the police department and the prosecutor's office was wound tightly around his finger: Manfred could make or break anyone's career, and Edgeworth was no exception. Logically, von Karma had every right to fire him after having to accept a loss that destroyed his streak of victorious guilty verdicts; to find himself in a situation to redeem that mistake was a very fortunate position.

He wanted another chance. He wanted to prove to his mentor that Phoenix Wright was merely an inconsistent idiot that caught a lucky break from an incompetent judge. He wanted to prove that he could be a son worthy of the von Karma name. Just once he wanted Manfred to look upon him with pride, instead of contempt and pity like he always had.

Edgeworth knew deep in his heart that it was only a vain hope.

Manfred would never bestow that title of perfection on his lowly toy.

So it was with remorse, fear, and apprehension that he slid to the floor on his knees, removing the expensive suit jacket and satin shirt, untying the silk cravat to expose his bare neck, all the while eyeing the aged man before him with a look of contempt and disgust.

A devilish grin splayed across the aged prosecutor's face.

Turning to face the chair, Edgeworth looped his arms between the wooden armrests, locking them together. He prepared for the inevitable, a chill passing over his pale, bare skin. His steel grey eyes clouded over as he heard the first crack –

He did not cry out, but the pain flashed across his vision, exploding into white stars that could not be ignored. He sucked a ragged breath in; his back arched away from the pain. His posture went rigid as he heard another crack, sending another fiery trail along his spine.

He fought to suppress his voice. It was losing battle every time, but the length of his defiance earned a bit more respect from the man.

He needed to win that much.

His mentor, his teacher – the one who raised him, taught him to deal the blow to criminals – deserved to have a worthy student capable of passing judgment on the wicked. He felt the impurities that he tried to phase out with each strike of the whip. Each sting was his own inability wiped away. Each trail of hot pain was a renewed passion to make Manfred proud. Von Karma meant everything to Miles Edgeworth; the man had restored the dignity he lost when his father left him an orphaned, lost child.

Each trail was perfect in measure, breath and width. It was a though Manfred tried to etch perfection into his body.

Each crack was the sound of his flaws, each deficiency falling away. Edgeworth grimaced at the emotions tearing at him inside as the whip scarred him outside.

_Ten_. That lash caught him off guard, a quiet whisper passing through his teeth as he imagined the intricate carving of flesh Manfred wrought with the whip. He felt each bite, he counted every one.

Every mark was on fire, his back burning out his desperation.

Cold sweat rose on his skin, causing sharp twinges when it flowed over the raised welts.

Everything he did was for honor; for himself, for von Karma.

He thought about his father, how Gregory Edgeworth could not protect his only son. A failed defense attorney.

Miles became single-minded, focusing through the blinding pain.

_Fifteen_.

This second chance was everything. He needed to succeed.

Von Karma stood back and admired his handy work. Nineteen perfect marks lined the young man's back. He took up a glass of wine from his desk, reveling in a sip of the robust red liquid.

Miles staggered on his knees. A numbness encompassed all of his body that he tried impatiently to push from his mind. That was only _nineteen_.

"You know I don't give second chances," the aged man was saying. "But nothing would make me more amused than to watch you succeed." Boisterous laughter filled the room as von Karma tossed the wine from his cup across the bare back of Miles Edgeworth.

Burning agony rushed, blinding as this time he did cry out. The world turned black. Everything blurred and faded, and then crashed together again as his back exploded in pain. The liquid ran down the new welts he couldn't see, searing into his skin.

It burned, an unbelievable anguish he had never known.

That pain was the last thing he knew before he slumped forward, an agony too much to bear.

* * *

"Hey, Gumshoe!" Wright strolled into the apartment, seemingly oblivious that it was a murder scene.

"Hey, pal! You're not supposed to be in here!" the startled detective yelled out, marching over to the smaller man.

"Why?" The lawyer feigned innocence, pressing a hand to the back of his head as a silly grin spread across his face.

"This is crime scene, pal!" Gumshoe realized his mistake all too late.

"Really? Well, then. Maybe you might be able to help a guy out and let me in on some info."

"No way, pal! I'm not telling you a thing about the murder!" The detective shifted uncomfortably after realizing his second mistake.

"Okay, listen. Don't go telling Edgeworth anything, because if you do I surely won't be getting a paycheck this week." The man's eyes shifted uneasily, as if he suspected the man in question would jump out of nowhere.

"Your secret is safe with me, Detective." Phoenix winked.

"Okay. Then this is what we've got; Samantha Green. Discovered at 6:20 this morning by her boyfriend, Robert Azure. Said that they were supposed to go out to breakfast that morning, and she didn't answer her phone. The security guard corroborated that he witnessed Robert enter the building around that time."

"I see." The lawyer thoughtfully stroked his jaw as he took in the small apartment. The items were different, but the layout of this room was practically the same as his own. Noting that the body had already been removed, he asked, "Is there an autopsy report yet?"

"We don't work _that_ fast, pal." The detective chuckled. "The body was just taken down to the lab, so expect something later today."

Continuing his summary, Gumshoe held out a photograph. "Here. Since all the evidence has already been sent to the station, I thought to give you this at least."

"So you knew that I was coming all along?" Phoenix smirked.

"Actually, yeah. I knew that if Mr. Edgeworth was on the case, you'd be soon to follow. I don't know why that made sense." The detective raised an eyebrow. "Go easy on him, okay?"

"I still have to prove my client innocent." Phoenix's smirk leveled slightly.

"You've got a client already?" The detective thought about it for a moment, then pointed in surprise. "Robert Azure?!"

Phoenix nodded.

"That's too bad. You might want to rethink that one." Digging into the large trench coat pocket, he pulled out an evidence bag. The lawyer picked it up and examined it carefully. Two small items clinked around inside the bag.

"We found this button on the scene. I'm headed down to the precinct to match this with the shirt the defendant is wearing, but I'm sure that this belongs to Mr. Azure."

"How is the other piece related?" Phoenix scrutinized the two objects carefully, rolling them around inside the packaging.

"Well, the other part is somewhat interesting. It's a folded up piece of paper, from Azure, confessing that he's the killer."

"What?!" Phoenix nearly shouted.

"Yeah, that's what I said. We're going to match the handwriting and all, but this pretty much clinches the case."

"I can't believe…" the attorney trailed off. Gumshoe slapped him on the back, jarring his senses.

"Sorry, pal. You win some, you lose some. You should probably tell that guy that you're not going to take his case." Even though the detective tried to make light of the situation, he had a genuine look of sadness etched on his brow.

"Right." Phoenix didn't mean to sound dejected just then, but the feeling couldn't be hidden in his voice. "I guess I should get going."

Gumshoe cast another thoughtful look at the defense attorney. "Don't forget, visiting hours start at nine, sharp. He's already in custody, so you won't have a problem talking to him."

"Thanks detective." Wright offered a genuine smile to the trench coated man before walking out of the crime scene.

A mixture of feelings hung around Phoenix's head as he thought through the case. Normally if there were even the smallest possibility that Azure didn't kill his girlfriend he would defend the man. An admission of guilt was a nail in the coffin, as it were, and Phoenix found himself doubting the client.

Had he even agreed to take the case yet?

Saddled with heavy emotions, his shoes clacked loudly on the floor.

"S'cuse me, buddy." A few police officers crowded down the stairs while a few more came up. As the investigation came to a close, all the assembled forces were hurriedly moving back and forth between the forensics vehicle and the murder site. Sighing at the sea of blue vests, he knew it would take the better partof twenty minutes to get down the stairs.

There was an audible chime that went off just then, and humorously Phoenix thought that he had an idea.

Turning to look down the hall of the apartment complex he noticed a small one car elevator. The doors had just begun to slide open and a patron had stepped forward to get inside. Sensing a small victory, he rushed for the car and called out politely.

"Please hold that door!"

Wright couldn't help but smile as the doors slid close, the lawyer safely inside the tiny elevator. Even though it was cramped, rickety, and smelled like cigarettes, he felt as though this was the best thing that happened all day. Huffing up all those stairs on an empty stomach at six in the morning was not the intended workout he had in mind today. This ride made up for all of that.

He grinned at the young woman who had accompanied him on the trip down. She smiled back shyly.

Feeling a blush coming on, he avoided her gaze by looking at the certificate of operation, the ceiling, the floor…

…

A glint caught his eye.

Finding himself curious, he bent down to see what it was.

It was a software chip of some sort.

Interest piqued, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and picked up the object with the cloth. He turned it up in his hand and flipped it over his palm. There were several exposed copper bars that ran parallel to the length of the plastic piece. Obviously this part served as a conduit to another object.

"It looks like it's from a phone," the young girl next to him spoke up. "I wonder if somebody dropped it."

Phoenix's smile widened. "You know, you may be right."

* * *

He gasped. Returning from a sea of black, he was confronted immediately with searing pain and a nagging voice coming from behind him.

"Get up, prosecutor. A shame that you didn't last, but that's just a testament to your nature: Close, but _never_ perfect."

His mind frantically searched to close the gap in his mind. Agony assaulted him in every sense of the word, foiling his attempts at logic. There was cackling now, and a sharp impact on his side.

Struggling with the burning throb of his body, he picked himself up. He had been slumped on the cushion face down. Other events filtered through his mind as his consciousness returned.

Von Karma.

His skin pulled and cracked in places that blood had began to dry. He must have been out for a few moments.

"Nineteen is not perfect, Miles. It is not round, or even. Nineteen is one less of perfection. You are not good enough for twenty."

Edgeworth struggled to right his body, slumping once in his attempt to rise.

Suddenly Miles was aware of breathing against his ear. It caused his skin to crawl, making the tracks along his back sizzle uncomfortably; it felt as though thousands of fire ants were biting the tender flesh.

"I can however force the last from you." It came as a whisper, but with all the malicious intent of a growl.

In all those years of training within the house of von Karma, Edgeworth was molded into a prosecutor of immaculate proportions.

Those lessons didn't come easily.

No amount of determination, effort, will power, or motivation could be considered enough. The only way was von Karma's; the only channel was through obedience. Edgeworth learned at a young age what it was to submit.

That is what changed Miles Edgeworth. Force, power, and submission: All a part of the price to obtain that knowledge to make a difference, to conquer over evil.

Who wouldn't make such sacrifices? It was his duty to his father; his duty to himself, to make that choice.

It wasn't enough to submit mentally, Edgeworth knew. Icy fingers trailed along his back, grazing the already raw skin, traveling downward, unforgiving and rough in their endeavor. No intention of sensitivity existed, none expected.

He remembered long ago what training as von Karma's pupil entailed. The pain of whip was only one torture reserved for him; with pain came the involuntary reaction of arousal. Von Karma made sure to exploit vulnerability in all ways possible.

There was a low guttural sound in the older man's throat as he cinched the front of Edgeworth's trousers, grasping at the lump that was there.

Edgeworth was unable to brace himself for the shock. Bending away, his body shuddered at the repulsive touch.

No matter how many times, it came to the same reaction.

"Come now…son. Must we go down the same road every time? Must I _restrain_ you?"

Edgeworth almost felt those straps pressed on his slender wrists. Mixed thoughts filled his mind with the thought of restraint, and when von Karma moved to press against him again, he didn't flinch.

"There." The older man crooned, wresting the trouser button loose. Wriggling fingers met with his heated, throbbing member – Edgeworth gasped as he felt the hot/cold needles of unwanted touch pass like electricity through him. His breathing quickened.

Snatching the member without hesitation in a harsh grasp, calloused hands practiced a feat familiar to Edgeworth. Many times his teachings would wind down this path. He gritted his teeth and steeled his body to ignore the response, but it would not listen.

Von Karma used his body, took control of it – it reacted without his consent, almost in spite of his concentrated effort to shut the feeling out. As if in response, he thrust into the tunnel von Karma made with his hand.

He tied not to think of the imaginary restraint holding him there. He tried not to notice as another rough hand searched for his cleft. The moan that sounded from his throat was involuntary as well, as a finger reached for the spot inside.

Dual sensation crushed down on Edgeworth's sanity. Denying himself the sinful pressure, he forced his body to stop moving. Every time he would slow, Von Karma would increase the friction, overloading his senses and he would unwillingly start again. He shuddered as he slid out of one friction into the waiting sensation of another, being ­­­persuaded from both ends. He moaned again.

"That's it, Miles," crooned the old man. "Give up."

Edgeworth's reserve and rationality slipped away, exposing the carnal, primitive, feelings that would never surface in the prosecutor. Obeying von Karma, he submitted his body to the sensation of penetration, rocking back and forth to increase the friction.

He felt the heat stir in his gut, and, as he climaxed, the immediate sense of failure and embarrassment in his actions overwhelmed his thoughts. Shuddering as his cock spurted, he felt the prickling at the back of his neck as von Karma purred a deep throaty growl.

"Twenty, Miles. You may have your second chance."

Edgeworth was overcome by a mixture of emotion. Relief, anger, and sadness filled him as he realized what had just occurred; however, it was a small sacrifice to prove himself worthy of von Karma's acceptance.

As if everything were that simple, von Karma withdrew from his body, adjusted his clothes, and resumed sitting at the desk. As if nothing had happened, the aged prosecutor went back to his work, leaving Miles' shaking, sweat-covered body to lay exposed in the middle of his office.

Edgeworth's self-loathing couldn't have been stronger in that moment.

He had submitted to von Karma again. Every time he promised to never succumb to the torturous act, yet somehow his body always betrayed him. Von Karma knew how to twist around his words to make Miles do what he wanted – this time he used his influence over the law to provoke his behavior. He cursed inwardly at himself for being so naive and gullible.

Von Karma did not say a word as Edgeworth redressed, carefully sliding the silken material over the red heated welts that had not reduced in swelling. There were sure to be stains on the expensive cloth.

His clothing hid scarring well.

Slowly he resumed the appearance had donned upon arriving, and with his shoulders only slightly sagging, returned to his own office.

After all, there was work to be done.


	3. Chapter 3

9:00am

The Detention Center

Somehow the police department looked more formidable now that Wright knew what awaited him inside.

Should he really tell Azure that he wouldn't take his case? It was obvious that if Azure left a note confessing his crime, defending the man would be futile.

Wright chided himself for being so indecisive. The main goal for coming down to the precinct was to determine if Azure was indeed guilty. By meeting the man face to face, he would know for certain if the suspect in question did murder Samantha Green.

That is why at 9:05am, Phoenix Wright entered the small, cramped detention hall to talk to Robert Azure.

The door clanked open, very audible even through the grated slot in the bulletproof glass. Two armed guards escorted a man inside. He was of smaller stature, clad with a telltale orange jumpsuit that looked too large for his thin form. After securely locking the cuffs to a lone chair positioned in front of the window, the officers quickly slid back into the recesses of the room. One of the men stayed behind, back pressed against the door.

For a moment, nothing was exchanged between the two men. A buzzing of the overhead ultraviolet light could be heard, the sound almost deafening in the tiny space. The large metal cuffs clinked against the aluminum bars of the chair. Chains rattled, the links looking too large for such a thin person. The scene looked so wrong.

Talking to Azure over the phone did not do the man justice. Taking in the suspected criminal's appearance, two things were made clear to Wright.

First of all, the man was young. The defense attorney placed his age to be approximately the same as his own.

Secondly, Robert Azure could not have killed anyone, let alone his girlfriend. He could almost feel it. "Mr. Azure, it is nice to able to meet you in person." Wright smiled. _When things seemed their worst, a smile must show it's brightest_, his mentor would always tell him.

"Mr. Wright, before you say anything else, I'd like to say… that I'm sorry." Brown locks hung heavily over his bright green eyes, profound sadness etched in his features.

Wright's smile faded slightly. "No need to apologize, Mr. Azure, I –"

"Please Mr. Wright. Let me finish." The young man tossed his hair to the side, only to have it fall again into his face.

He looked so _young_, the attorney thought. How could _this_ man be a cold blooded killer?

"I know how this all looks, Mr. Wright," the man was saying, "and I understand if you refuse to take my case." Azure shook his head, emitting a low chuckle. "If I were you and I saw the evidence piled against me, even _I_ wouldn't have taken my case."

Wright swallowed hard as he saw Azure's shoulders droop. It was hard to see the man's eyes; he seemed to be intently looking at his lap.

Part of Wright felt good to be let go – now there was nothing holding him to the case. If he wanted to he could walk right out of this room with no regrets.

The other part of him rolled in and slapped the first part for good measure. _Look at him!_ that part almost screamed, and he felt compelled to comply.

Wright's blue eyes stared intently at Azure. There was nothing to say. There was nothing he could say.

"Well, if you'll excuse me…" Azure nodded over his shoulder to the security officer by the door. The policeman uncrossed his arms and walked over to where the suspect was seated.

Wright stared. Was this it?

No, he needed a moment. He needed to think. What should he do? What _could_ he do?

Closing his eyes, he searched for the answer. Inside, he always knew the right course of action for everything. _That's what got me this far_, he thought. Through each case he had taken, instinct had a front seat to every decision he had made.

That part of him knew whether or not a person was innocent. The same inner voice that directed his behavior in court also rang clearly as if it were justice itself. Somehow he could feel it, the essence of each person he protected, each person he cleared of murder.

So what was his inner voice telling him now?

His eyes opened. He knew his answer.

"Wait." Wright's face was very serious, a look that didn't seem to fit on the defense attorney's face.

Azure was being lifted from his chair. The security guard looked at Wright, poised to remove the young man from his seat restraints.

"I'm taking the case," he stated, sounding more surprised at his own tone than the two men staring at him.

Azure stared hard at the defense attorney, but sat back down into the seat.

"Do you see this?" Wright removed the badge from the lapel of his jacket and slid it under the lip of the shatterproof glass.

Azure looked at it, but said nothing. The shine on the pin was slightly tarnished, but the pale florescent light still glinted on the gold surface.

Wright continued. "My responsibility is to defend people, Mr. Azure; people like you who need to be protected. You might think that it would be alright for me to decline your case, but if I did that, I would fail that duty."

Wright let the words sink in. Azure's gaze didn't change much on the surface, but the defense attorney could tell something was brewing in the young man's eyes.

"I…" Wright hesitated, checking to make sure all thoughts were in agreement. He nodded, more to himself than the two men. "I believe that you are innocent, Mr. Azure. If you can believe in me, the truth will emerge."

Wright's smile returned two-fold, and this time he didn't have to force it.

The storm in Azure's gaze lifted and for the first time since they met, a small tentative smile played across the accused man's face.

"Good." Wright clapped his hands, rubbing them together with renewed fervor. "Now let's get to business. Tell me what you know."

* * *

Azure's relationship with the victim was sketchy at best, the lawyer surmised as the man talked about his girlfriend. Hours among celebrities left hardly anytime for personal interactions. Her business life would often interfere with plans that the two would schedule together. On many occasions they would meet at obscure times of the day because her schedule would only permit so.

"That's why I was going to her apartment that morning." Azure frowned. "We were going to have an early morning breakfast. We had planned it three days ago."

The expression on the young man's face could hardly be categorized simply as 'sad'. "It meant a lot to me. I really wanted to see her, and…" he trailed.

Wright looked up from his notes, realizing that Azure had abruptly stopped talking. The young man was looking upward, his eyes glazed. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and he forcefully closed his eyes. A trail outlined his check as the tear fell.

"Then it was time. Six o'clock. We were going to a diner we both liked. They were open twenty four hours…" Azure's brow furrowed, his eyes remained closed. "When I got there…"

The defense attorney knew he couldn't let Azure keep going. Already the young man was shaking uncontrollably; it would be a matter of time before his reserve began to break. Shifting the topic, he spoke. "Mr. Azure, please. Could you tell me anything about this alleged note confessing your guilt?"

Azure slowly shook his head, his hair swishing back and forth across his face. "I can't."

Wright sat up, startled.

"I can't, because I don't know what note the police are talking about."

How can he, the supposed killer, _not know_ about his _letter of confession_? Wright puzzled. His brows kitted in thought as he stroked his chin between his first finger and thumb. Things were starting to get complicated – unfortunately Wright knew that it would get much worse before the truth would be revealed.

* * *

"Do we have an understanding?" Edgeworth raised an eyebrow.

"Yessir." The balding security guard nodded.

"Very well." Edgeworth wrote in his book before looking up at the man. "May I have your name again for the court record?"

"It's P-P-Pink, sir. Mr. Pink." The older man stuttered, openly showing his discomfort in front of the prosecutor.

"Then I will be seeing you in court tomorrow, Mr. Pink," Edgeworth announced, swiftly closing the leather bound book in his hand.

It was his second trip to the apartment building that day and Edgeworth's fluid thoughts cycled through his mind as he walked out of the building. It wasn't an expected trip; he frowned at the memory of Gumshoe entering his office with the supplementary documents for the case.

"_There was a security guard there who can corroborate the story, sir." The detective confidently smirked._

_Until Edgeworth responded._

"_Where is his statement?" The prosecutor asked sternly, rummaging through the stacks of paper the trench-coated detective brought in._

"_Uh…"_

_Edgeworth shot at look at Gumshoe, who was currently running a hand nervously across the back of his head._

"_Don't tell me you didn't get the key witnesses' statement, detective." His voice was one octave away from becoming irate._

_Gumshoe didn't wait around long enough to find out. Edgeworth only saw the swish of the green trench coat as it quickly disappeared behind the wooden door of his office. The prosecutor would have missed it had he blinked._

"_Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth!" he heard, echoing down the long corridor._

Edgeworth's frown deepened. It seemed that people enjoyed wasting his time.

Climbing back into the car, he winced inwardly as his back brushed the seat. Ignoring the burn, he returned to the Prosecutor's office intent on finishing his paper work. Court would start first thing tomorrow morning.

* * *

Sleep never came easily for the prosecutor. When it would claim him, the haunting memories of his father would insure that it would not be a restful endeavor.

Sweat beaded his semi-nude body. He had already stripped off his silk top and had propped himself upwards, resting on the palms of his hands. Breathing erratically, his chest shuddered from the chill against his skin and the pounding of his heart.

Another night of waking dread; the feeling that he was still trapped in the elevator. The black room stretched out fingers in the darkness, hoping to draw him into the illusion of that cramped, sealed box. It tried to suffocate him; he always felt his chest tighten while in this dream. It tried to steal his breath just as it did his father's, those many years ago.

Edgeworth had heard death's rattle.

Wiping the damp bangs from his forehead, he was not surprised to feel wetness clinging to the corners of his eyes. He could never stop the tears that forced their way out as he struggled subconsciously. Though they were not out of sympathy for his father.

They were from the sheer terror that filled him as he had listened to the struggle of the two men shrouded in darkness. From the gun as he reached for it, the remaining heat fading from where it rested at the bailiff's hip. The frozen moment of horror on his father's face as the explosion of gunpowder ripped through the impacted space.

Then there was the scream.

It amalgamated so many inflictions: pain, confusion, agony and hatred all melded into one intense howl, one that Edgeworth would never forget. He could hear his father's pain, the gunshot that would have cost his life. It was combined with his own voice, a protest in apology; a cry as if to take it all back.

Sometimes he would still be screaming when he awoke alone, clutching the sheets so hard his hands ached.

Tonight he was reminded by the familiar sting of his muscles what he had sacrificed for his position. The delicious burn had returned anew with the sheen of sweat clinging to his body, boring another sensation he knew all too well.

His traitorous body knew what he wanted, what he wouldn't admit.

All of the pain and suffering through the years had taken its toll on the young prosecutor. The inadequacies he suffered in his childhood years reared its ugliness in this quiet secluded time. All the logic he buried himself in was of no use to the deep seated desires that haunted him behind closed doors. The familiar sting begot the humiliating feeling of inadequacy, and the desire for punishment.

His body arched as he touched sensitive flesh, almost too eagerly for his own good. He wanted this, yet he despised the feeling. It amplified when he came, hot and panting, in his hand.

No, the tears were not sympathy for his father. The sympathy was for himself.

There would be no rest for him tonight.

* * *

The papers skidded across the floor before the attorney could reach to grab them. Like paper birds they fluttered and dove across the checkered tiles, thoroughly covering the floor in bright white copy paper.

"_Shit…" _Wright muttered to himself.

First, the attorney had woken up late. That was the first indication that this would be a _lovely_ day. Then he'd spilled hot coffee on his suit jacket; it wasn't enough that the liquid near seared sensitive skin, but the dark stain proved to be a problematic happenstance since it was a dry clean only suit. It was the _only_ suit of some significant value he owned and he damn near ruined it, the big brown spot seemingly mocking him from his lapel.

Then, as he packed the papers into his briefcase, he realized they weren't all going to fit inside. That would mean juggling them all the way to the courthouse: Walking, bus, more walking, and stairs.

Outside it was raining. Only when he saw the water droplets on the pavement did he realize he never did get that umbrella he needed. Using the court documents proved an unviable option. Somehow, depite traffic delays and car accidents he heard about on the radio, he missed the one bus that would turn the morning around.

This, however, sealed the deal. In his haste to the courtroom the lawyer had let the pile of papers he carried shift ever so slightly, sending them cascading to the floor below. He stared at the papers incredulously as if asking why they had to ridicule him as well.

"Well I guess I could've dropped them in the rain on the way here," Wright muttered to himself as he knelt to pick up the now confirmed flight-risk papers. A scuffle of soles on marble alerted the lawyer to someone else in close proximity. He flinched to find out who it was.

Gumshoe smiled awkwardly and handed Wright a few papers that had flew well beyond reaching distance. "Thought you could use a hand, pal." He grinned, an odd mischievous look in his eyes.

"Er, well…thanks detective." Wright smiled pleasantly. "I've been having a very bad morning."

"I can see that, pal," Gumshoe smirked, leaning in to grab a few more papers. "Actually I'm happy I ran into you, I've been meaning to give you these." He presented his other hand before withdrawing it again, realizing the stack of papers the lawyer already had in his hands was too great to possibly grab something else. "You know what? Let me help you get this to courtroom B," Gumshoe decided.

"Thanks, detective," Wright sighed. He didn't want to accept, but the way this morning was headed he figured the best thing to do was concede to a little help.

"You ought to look into getting an assistant, pal." Gumshoe thought for a moment before speaking again. "Didn't you have one of those on your last case…what was her name? Maui, Mayoi…?" His eyebrows kinked upwards in an oddly comical way.

"Well, yes, but that was a different case." Wright resisted the urge to scratch the back of his head, juggling an armful of papers at the moment.

"Exactly. The one on your last case." Gumshoe nodded.

Wright sighed again. "No detective, I mean that was a different situation – Maya's sister was the victim on the last trial, and she was the suspect." Wright thought about the girl, an almost wistful look crossing his face. "The only reason she was in the defendant's box was because she was being defended."

He did wonder about Maya, now that Gumshoe had mentioned her. After Mia died and Maya's name was cleared, the mystic went back to her hometown for emotional support. It's not enough that her sister was killed, but she was almost pinned as the murderer, he thought.

"Oh. Well she was a really good legal aide if you ask me." Gumshoe grinned again, turning to walk down the hall.

Courtroom B was not far, and before Wright new it he was flopping the mass of paper onto the table in front of him. The desk was neatly polished and shone with a luster, unfortunately causing the paper to fly away once more. Wright buckled down on top of the sheets before they could make their way to the floor.

"Ah, Mr. Wright," the judge spoke from his podium. "I'm glad that you made it."

Wright flinched inwardly at the voice. _The judge was already here?_

Glancing around the room for the first time since he entered, he could see that indeed the room was already full.

His eyes dared what his mind would not; over on the prosecutor's side stood a very pristine, very _ready_ Miles Edgeworth.

"It's so good of you to grace us with your presence, Wright," he spoke, tapping a finger against the crook of his arm at a clipped pace. The prosecutor's face showed no outward signs of agitation, yet his actions dictated otherwise. "However most of us have something called a schedule that we intend on keeping."

"I'm sorry, your honor," Wright declared, ignoring Edgeworth's comment. "Just give me a moment and the defense will be ready."

"Very well, Mr. Wright." The judge nodded. "You may sort out your belongings–"

Edgeworth interrupted the judge with a curt tsk. "I believe Mr. Wright will have enough time to sort through his belongings while I call the detective to the stand." The reprimanding tone was thick, yet Edgeworth remained as emotionless as when the Wright first laid eyes on him.

_Edgeworth isn't being very forgiving_, Wright thought. _Is it only because I was late, or is he still mad from the last case against him I won?_

Suddenly the courtroom jitters caught up to the young lawyer. As he scurried to categorize the evidence he ran into a few sheets he was certain he hadn't packed.

_This must be what Gumshoe wanted to give me_, he thought glancing over the records. Inside the manila envelope was an official police letterhead along with several papers affixed with an official seal. It read:

_The criminal investigations department has performed its legal responsibility by presenting this document (aforementioned as Exhibit 'A'), the autopsy report for case CR-2._

_Victim: Samantha Green_

_Age: 28_

_Cause of Death: Stab wound to the heart._

_Other details as follows: Lacerations to the arms and torso. Attempted ligature strangulation._

He barely heard Edgeworth's comment as he read through the rest of the report.

"Prosecution calls detective Gumshoe to the stand, resident…expert." Edgeworth seemed to choke on the last word.

Wright disguised a chuckle as a slight cough. Surely Gumshoe didn't fit the definition of expert, but he was the head detective on the case.

"Sure thing, Mr. Edgeworth," Gumshoe smirked, assuming his place at the witness stand.

"Very well. Detective, will you please testify to the court what the police department found at the scene of the crime?"

"Certainly. The man rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he turned toward a poster board located close to the evidence table. "Well, as you can see by this schematic, the body was found in the victim's apartment at approximately 6:15 yesterday morning. There was no forced entry and the knife was located here," he pointed, "next to the victim's body, which was here."

He placed a marker for each of the items in question as he spoke. "There was a broken cell phone next to her body here, a button here, and a note soaked with blood here." The detective turned a somewhat serious eye to the defense attorney as he continued. "The note was located on top of the victim's body."

"Thank you detective. Were there any further observations?" Edgeworth tapped the crook of his arm with his index finger.

"Yes, sir. The button on the scene was indicated to be one from the defendant's shirt, and the note was sent in for handwriting analysis."

"And?" The prosecutor raised an eyebrow.

Gumshoe could hardly hide the dejected look as he spoke. "It was a match, sir. The handwriting on the note is that of the defendant, Robert Azure."

There was a murmur in the courtroom, and more than a few broken sentences could be overheard in the heavy air. Wright noticed more than a few negative jabs towards his client.

"We took a few photographs of the room also; there were quite a few blood stains on the walls and furniture from when the lacerations were inflicted."

"Very well. This is accepted into the court record as evidence," the judge declared. "Are there any further questions for Detective Gumshoe?"

"The prosecution is quite pleased with the testimony." Edgeworth's pose hadn't changed.

Wright briefly thought before answering. "No your honor," he replied, shaking his head.

"Well. It seems that this is an open and shut case," the judge raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed." Edgeworth replied, simply staring ahead.


End file.
